


Result Successful

by Rochelle_Templer



Category: The Monkees, The Monkees (TV)
Genre: Gen, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-03 01:50:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12738588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rochelle_Templer/pseuds/Rochelle_Templer
Summary: Peter decides to make lunch. Mike decides to gamble....





	Result Successful

At that particular moment, Peter was extremely proud of himself.

He had been trying to think of a new, delicious way to use the spare bits of food they had in the refrigerator for the past two days. He knew that soup wouldn’t work this time because they were out of root beer and Mike never seemed to want to buy any these days. Undeterred, Peter was determined to find a way to help with what was usually the most pressing problem around the pad: having a real meal to eat.

The bassist looked down at the sandwiches on the plates in front of him with another grin of satisfaction. He was certain that no one thought to use both pickles and slices of watermelon in the same dish, but Peter had always been ambitious in culinary pursuits. He figured that was how the best foods like meatloaf and hotdogs were discovered in the first place.

“Hey, Pete have you seen my….?”

Mike stopped cold when he noticed the plates on the table. The presence of food on them and the way that Peter was smiling did not bode well.

“Hey Mike, are you hungry?” Peter beamed at him. “I made us all lunch.”

“Uh-huh,” Mike said as he walked over to the table. He could see what looked like a greenish, brownish sauce dripping out of the sides of the sandwiches and almost lost his nerve to ask his next question. “What are they?”

“Tuna-cheese sandwiches,” Peter answered. “With a little special sauce on top.”

“Uh-huh,” Mike said again as he slowly sat down in one of the chairs. He was dreading what was coming next, but Mike had also made it his mission in life to spare the guys from as many unpleasant things as possible. 

“That…that sounds real…interesting, Shotgun,” he said, his voice cracking slightly in hesitation. “How about I try one before Micky and Davy get back?”

“Sure,” Peter smiled, nodding vigorously. The bassist sat down across from Mike and placed his chin against the heel of his hand.

Mike looked down at the sandwich in front of him. It didn’t seem so bad when he focused on the slice of white bread on top. Then again, it was hard to miss how the “special sauce” was continuing to seep out the sides in runny rivulets.

Figuring that it was best to get it over with as soon as possible, Mike scooped up the sandwich with both hands and took a deep breath before biting into it.

“Well?” Peter said, his tone eager. “What do you think?”

It took several seconds before Mike was able to swallow what was in his mouth and several more before he was even able to produce anything other than a loud gulp. The taste was a mix of a gym locker and soda that had sat out for two days. Mike immediately wished that he could gargle with mouthwash for about an hour.

“Well Pete,” he said with a dry cough. “I’m afraid you outdid the cream of root beer soup.”

“Oh,” Peter said, his face falling. “That bad, huh?”

“It’s not so much bad,” Mike drawled. It was worse, but the Texan kept that thought to himself. “I’m just sayin’ I don’ think it’s goin’ to be Davy or Micky’s kind of thing. You know how they are. Micky won’t stop putting that orange juice on his cornflakes.”

“Yeah, and Davy actually likes those kippers,” Peter said with a shudder.

“See, there you go,” Mike said, waving a hand out at him. “So I’m thinking we should try somethin’ else for lunch when they get back.”

“I guess,” Peter said with a long sigh. “I just…I just wanted to help out.”

“Of course you did,” Mike said, patting his shoulder. “And it’s great that you keep tryin’. I um, I don’t…I mean, I’m not sure if everyone else is ready for your ideas about food, Peter.”

“Oh, you mean like I’m ahead of my time,” Peter replied with a huge grin.

“Somethin’ like that,” Mike nodded. “And hey, that’s groovy and all. Don’ let anyone tell you that you shouldn’t do your own thing.”

“I won’t,” Peter said, shaking his head. “Thank you, Michael.”

“You’re welcome, Pete,” Mike smiled back at him. “Now, how about you have these other two sandwiches?”

“Oh that’s ok, I already had two,” Peter answered. “They don’t seem to stick with you very long.”

The Texan quietly hoped that that was true as he gathered up the remains of his sandwich along with the other two onto one plate. He briefly considered throwing them out on the beach and letting the gulls have them. Then again, Mike never did like to be mean to animals.

Mike’s train of thought was suddenly interrupted by the sound of the door opening and then swinging shut.

“Hey guys,” Micky said, bounding into the room. “What’s that you got there, Mike?”

“I, uh,…it’s nothing,” Mike stammered. He hid the plate behind a box on the counter before turning back toward the rest of the guys. “Say, ah, what about, I mean, why don’t we go over to Luigi’s for lunch. He said he’s give us a pizza the next time we dropped by.”

“Sounds good to me,” Davy nodded.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Micky said before racing back toward the door.

Peter grinned and quickly followed them. Mike considered trying to chug down a glass of water before he left, but then he figured it’d be better to just get going. Luigi was sure to have water at his place.

And the sooner he could put some distance between himself and those sandwiches the better.


End file.
